Page 59 of The Intimacy of Skin
A new list of names with their specialties rolled down the screen. I groaned at Price, already exhausted with the process.
“Come on, this is important,” he reminded me.
We were among the lucky group of Americans who had health insurance through our jobs. The hardest part was finding a therapist within our network who had availability. Price agreed to seeing someone, too, but we were focusing on me first.
Every therapist looked the same to me, professional with a fake smile on their faces.
They all dressed in business casual, posing for their headshots in a tactful blouse or button-up shirt.
I wasn’t wholly responsive to the idea of someone rummaging around in my brain, and so far, none of them looked inviting enough for me to want to give it a shot.
Coming up on page five, I had almost given up hope on finding someone I thought I could open up to. “Can we just take a break? It’s Christmas Eve.” I pouted. Truly pouted, like I was some scorned child.
Price countered my pout with a firm look. “The faster we get this over with, the faster we can go on about our lives until your first appointment.” He leaned back against the couch, crossing his legs under the old laptop. “You’re the one who wanted to do it this morning to get it out of the way.”
“Ugh, stop being right.”
“I can’t. Being wrong just isn’t in my DNA.”
I shot him a narrow glare, only getting a laugh in response. We kept scrolling, reading through all the specialties and introductions the therapists had. Our search had been narrowed down some, though it wasn’t by much.
I felt more comfortable with women than men. At least when it came to my past. I also wanted flexibility in video and in-person appointments. The search continued for another ten minutes as I shook my head at every person we came across. Finally, one of them piqued my interest.
“She looks nice.” I pointed to the screen. Price clicked on her profile, showing her picture and introduction better. Her name was Emilia, though she insisted she be called Emily. She had light-blue hair, a lip ring, a nose ring, and a few tattoos that decorated her arms.
“She specializes in trauma therapy. Looks like she works with teens and up.” Price squinted as he read each line with me.
“Wow. Ten years in her field. Looks like she also does EMDR and all sorts of other stuff. It says she’s LGBTQ+ friendly as she’s in the community as well.
Oh, and she’s from the south. Just like you.
” He smiled at that, nudging my arm encouragingly.
I pointed to the reviews section of the page. Once they loaded, almost every single one was full of blazingly positive things to say. The majority were sexual and domestic abuse survivors who sang Emily’s praises, claiming she’d helped them when no one else could.
Looking back up at Price, I nodded. Worst case scenario, we didn’t vibe and I could try someone else. I spent the next twenty minutes going through admission forms and setting up an initial appointment with Price’s unwavering support.
I left a lot of the details out, only vaguely explaining that I was seeking therapy due to past sexual trauma. Price helped me add that it was incredibly difficult for me to speak about, hoping it would give Emily enough warning to tread carefully during our first meeting.
The entire process took most of our morning, leaving me mentally exhausted. I still had some pain around my nose, but the rest of my body was on its way to healing.
Besides, I had my own Prince Charming to hold me close on the couch while an old Christmas movie played in the background. I snuggled against his chest, breathing him in. “Sorry I took up our whole Christmas Eve morning.”
“I’m not. Just spending it with you is good enough.” His lips brushed against the top of my head, sending little flutters down into my stomach. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any decorations up. Or a gift for you. ”
I frowned and shifted so I could see him better. The poor guy looked dejected as all get out. “I don’t need one.”
“Sure,” he scoffed. “I wanted to get one, but I’m obviously already kinda failing at the whole boyfriend thing.”
Heat flared against my cheeks, a blush forming across them, and I was sure it was spreading down my neck too. The idea of us being boyfriends stole my breath away.
Shaking my head, I curled into him as closely as I could. “I have everything I want right here.” It was the truth. Willow and I rarely did gifts anymore, finding it too time-consuming and anxiety-inducing as we’d gotten older.
Warm, strong arms wrapped tight around my back, pushing me further into his chest. “Me too, baby.”
We stayed like that, enjoying our bodies mushed together like we couldn’t get enough of each other.
It’d been so long since I’d genuinely enjoyed someone else’s embrace.
It seemed like an eternity ago that Mom had cuddled up with me in bed, smoothing the hair over my forehead to kiss me there.
I missed her still. Always have, probably always will.
My phone started ringing in my pocket, startling me at first. Willow’s contact showed on the screen. “What’s up?”
“Is Price with you?”
“Yeah, why?” I repositioned myself to sit straighter on the couch and gave Price a questioning glance.
Willow cleared her throat in my ear and took a deep breath. “Put me on speaker.”
Still cautious and unsure, I did as she said. “Okay, what’s going on?” Price shifted closer, our thighs touching as we waited. Unease stretched between both of us, quickly turning the mood sour.
“So, I sent the proposal we drafted off to a few investors I know. It was sorta a shot in the dark, since only a handful of them were interested in what you’re specifically offering.” Her voice lowered, taking on a somber, regretful tone. “I got some responses.”
Seeing Price’s face fall the way it did tore me up inside. Although he’d originally been against the idea, he had gotten his hopes up after Willow’s insistence.
If his heart broke, so would mine. Tapping the side of my head against his, I whispered, “It’s okay. We’ll get through it.” My Prince Charming simply nodded against me, silence and an air of melancholy overtaking him.
Willow finally continued, her sad tone crisp through the phone. “Proposals like this are bound to have rejections at first, and this was no different than any of the hundreds I’ve done before. Fortunately, Price, we don’t have that problem.”
We both stilled against each other, not a single breath releasing between us.
“Huh?” Price asked.
The little shit she is, Willow giggled maniacally. “Dude, we got three interested replies and one that basically said yes! The moment the snow clears, we’ve got a meeting for a lengthier discussion regarding the business plan, logistics, and all that junk.”
A summer’s ray of sun shone across Price’s face as his jaw snapped shut. I watched his eyes cut to the phone, then to me, then all over again. The curves of his lips twisted up, showcasing the single dimple on the side of his face as he let out a mix between a hoot and a cry.
His arms wrapped around me, the force of his body crashing into me enough to push me to the edge of the couch. Willow laughed in the background, my phone hanging on for dear life in my hand.
“It’s gonna be hard work, Price. You’ve got a lot of planning and math in your future, but I’ll be there the entire way.” Willow gave us one last excited squeal before saying goodbye.
The moment she hung up, I dropped my phone to the ground and hugged Price to me. “I’ll be here for you, too. I know how math is for you.”
Gorgeous, fiery amber stared down at me. Price’s grin showed off his sharp canines in a crooked, charming grin. “Best Christmas Eve ever.”
On Christmas Day, Price insisted on leaving a twelve-hour video of a burning yule log on the TV to make up for the lack of Christmas spirit in his apartment. I found it downright hilarious and unnecessary, but the effort was appreciated.
Freshly baked sugar cookies made every room smell light and cheery. Price made the cookies from scratch, further proving his talent in his passion. They were cooling now, waiting for further decoration with store-bought sprinkles that I—once again—found unnecessary.
Price had no idea that Mom used to wake me up on Christmas morning the same way he had. A house turned into a bakery, cookies cut into little snowmen and snowflakes, her beautiful blond hair striped with flour.
Though lacking in spirit, this Christmas had already become the best since Mom died. The snow still hushed the city into silence, forcing us and Willow to stay where we were. We compromised by setting up the old laptop on the coffee table in the living room so we could video call Willow.
I knew she was worried about me. She hated having to spend Christmas Eve and day away from me, especially after my little run-away stint the other night.
Neither of us brought it up. I wasn’t ready to share the horrors of Tiger Claw Camp with her, verbally or otherwise. Like the good friend she was, she didn’t push questions onto me. She made it clear how worried she was and how grateful she was that I was okay, and that was that.
We laughed together, reminisced over old memories, and sat in companionable silence as the day passed us by.
Price and I ate sugar cookies and planned our next dinner together with Willow, along with the impending meeting with Price’s potential investor.
We didn’t need to be in the same house to enjoy our time together.
Once the sun fell, we were alone again. The eternally burning yule log was our only lighting, enveloping us in a pulsing darkness with the barest hint of a flickering flame across our faces.
I was held in the strongest pair of arms. They were scarred and raw with shared pain. Shared misery in the form of claws that dug into Price’s skin. I focused on them, selfishly sapping their heat as I leaned against his chest.